


Dry Heat

by fuckyatta



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, junkertown - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 07:00:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14373408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyatta/pseuds/fuckyatta
Summary: Their Talon drop ship malfunctions on their way to a meeting with Akande, and Moira, Reaper, Sombra, and Widowmaker seek help from the residents of a settlement off the outskirts of Junkertown





	Dry Heat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TastySins_tm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TastySins_tm/gifts).



> My wonderful friend Taylor wrote me Widowmaker/Winston for my birthday, and I wanted to write them a fanfiction in return. I told her to give me the worst ship she could think of, and she gave me Junkrat/Moira. Jokes on you, I ended up writing 5,000 words worth. Woops. I'm so fucking sorry to my followers who just want me to update Menagerie, and have to see this shit.
> 
> I encourage comments/criticism, especially for this hellfire of a fanfiction.

Dirt kicks up in waves. Moira already knows her shoes are scuffed, that she shouldn't have worn her Sunday best if she had known their drop ship would stall and need to make an emergency landing in Australia's undesirable outback. It's sweltering, the heat beating down on the members of Talon. They would have preferred to stay aboard the drop ship, but that wouldn't be an option, the stalled engine effecting the ventilation and turning the steel walls into a molten death trap. 

Moira's already stripped of her jacket and waistcoat, the sleeves of her dress shirt rolled up high and the first few buttons popped open, tie discarded in a pile along with her other clothes. Gabriel is brooding to himself, kicking up dirt and grumbling to himself, refusing to remove his hoodie despite ruining it with sweat. Sombra's nearly forgone dignity, clad in her bra and shorts, desperately clinging to Widowmaker, who seems unaffected by the heat, trying to sap the cold away from her skin. 

They'd originally made plans to fly to New Zealand to meet Akande, who stated he'd met an omnic with crucial information regarding the whereabouts of Overwatch defectors who'd wish to make a deal with Talon. It had been all last minute, and he insisted that they all attend, in case it had been a trap and he'd need assistance. 

Sweat drips down Moira's brow. The gel in her hair has become rightfully ruined, strands of hair falling out of place, sticking to her forehead. Placing a hand above her eyes and blocking out the sun, she spots a settlement up north. She taps her foot impatiently, glancing back to the drop ship. A common soldier is in charge of getting the engine working again, but they appear to be struggling. In a few short strides Moira makes her way towards the soldier, towering over them. 

"How does it look?" She inquires. 

The soldier takes a moment to respond. They place a hand to their mask, it clicks and whirs before coming off. "It appears to be more than a stalled engine," they begin, wiping sweat off their face, looking directly up to Moira. "Sometime during our flight something must have tampered with the ship. Nothing is turning on, everything seems to have suddenly died out, and we don't have a technician on board to find the source of the problem." 

Moira swallows, licks her dry lips. "So what does that mean for us?" 

"It means we have no way of getting off the ground, and our communications have been cut off. We are stranded, and no one has any way of knowing where we are."

Moira runs a hand through her hair, tries not to assert her frustration out on a common soldier who genuinely had no part in the problem. "Right," she huffs. Surely Akande would have a clue of where they would be, at some point. She then walks over to Gabriel, garnering his attention by clearing her throat. He glares up at her, but says nothing, waiting for her to speak. She points towards the settlement she spotted earlier. "There's a few buildings up that way, perhaps there are people still living there. We should see if they have any way to help us." 

Gabriel shifts his weight on either foot, mulls over the suggestion. His voice is gruff, irritated. "No. We'll stay here and wait." 

Sombra pipes up, currently pressing her cheek to Widowmaker's shoulder. "Gaaaaabe, please. Maybe they have air conditioning," she whines, and Widowmaker laughs at her childishness, muttering a quiet _I doubt it_ to her.

Gabriel growls, dragging a hand down his face and scratching at his beard. He looks to the ship, then to the settlement, then back to Moira. "Fine. We can try."

It's a short trek, made difficult by the harsh heat. Without their gear, a small group of troops follows them, guns at the ready in case something goes awry. The settlement is made up of a court of shantys, barely held together pieces of sheet metal and wood. They're unlucky, at first. Resident's peak out of holes in the wall and broken windows, scurrying behind cover when they get too close. They're best attempt at contact was a garbled voice shouting at them to get off his property when they knocked, and they decided it was best not to instigate further. 

They've all but lost hope when they make it to the end of the road, a worn down warehouse there. Gabriel grunts his complaints, says there's no point, but still Moira rasps at the garage door. They stand there a moment, and they're about to give up when it rattles to life, rolling up just a smidgen, allowing whoever was inside to speak.

"Who's there." The voice is labored and gruff, heavy breathing easy to hear from the other side.  
When none of the other members speak up, Moira rolls her eyes before responding. "Our ship broke down a few miles south of here. We are in need of assistance."

A moment passes. "Go somewhere else." He says, the garage door beginning to close.

Moira reacts, sliding her foot forward to stop it from closing completely. "We will gladly reward you for your services." Something other than the door presses down on her foot, presumably the mans own foot. It's extremely heavy, the pressure unbearable and Moira tries not to express her discomfort. 

"We don't want your money. Go. Away." 

Sombra, again, voices her own opinion. "Maybe we should just tough it out on the ship." Which earns her a punch on the shoulder from Gabriel, who growls at her and reminds her she's the one who agreed to come here in the first place.  
Moira's about to argue that Sombra might be right, but another man's voice comes within earshot inside the warehouse, more shrill than the other man's.

"Woah woah woah woah, what's this I hear about money?" There's lopsided footsteps that can be heard before the garage door whooshes open, revealing the two men previously behind it. An absolute tank of a man, towering over most of the group, bested by merely a few inches from his counterpart, a squirrelly man who's ribs poke out as he stands tall with his hands on his hips. He gives his partner an accusatory glare, pointing a finger to his chest. "This is no way to treat guests, Roadie, we gotta help this poor saps!"

The man, Roadie, as he called him, simply grunts a response. 

The skinny man shakes his head, wild, ratty hair following the movement. He turns his head towards Moira and the others and he jumps, makes a surprised noise and his eyes go comically large. "Didn't realize the circus was in town!" He proclaims, a big grin on his face. Moira can practically feel the heat radiating off of Gabriel's seething form, though she's sure they do make quite a sight. "Anyways! Come in, come in!" 

They're hesitant, but Sombra is the first to enter, dragging Widowmaker with her. Gabriel taps his foot against the ground, thinking, before following suit. Moira is still locked in place by the heavy man's foot. He stares her down, the eye's of his gas mask boring through her. They stand there a moment, before he removes his foot, nodding his head towards the others. She quietly thanks him before heading inside. There's a beaten down motorcycle in the middle of the room, the skinny man has sat himself cross legged on the top of the sidecar, back bent forward and hands on his knees. "What brings you lot all the way out here?" 

Finally, Gabriel decides to explain their situation instead of making Moira do the work. "We're stranded out here. We either need someone who can fix our ship or a way to contact outside help."

The skinny man hums, scratches at his chin. "And what's this I hear about money?" 

"We are willing to compensate for your time," Moira chimes in. "Name your price, and we will match it, as long as you provide."

"Weeeeellll..." He begins, "We don't have any fancy shmancy phones, and neither of us are any good at fixin' nothing, destroying is what we're good at." He grins up at his partner, expecting a response, but gets none, so he continues. "Buuuuuut there's surely a man inside Junkertown who knows a thing or two about fixin' things!"

"Junkertown?" Moira's heard of it before, a settlement created after the ominium explosion, though there's been very little activity at all in Australia. The crew had seen it whilst making their way here, but they believed it to be abandoned.

The man nods, pointing towards it's direction. "Couple steps out east."

"West." His counterpart corrects.

"A couple steps out west."

"And how do we get in, exactly?" Gabriel asks, noticeably frustrated, not enjoying his time with these two strangers.

The skinny man practically lights up at the question. He takes a deep breath, smile on his face, before being cut off by his partner, who's large hand covers his mouth. "They're not too keen on strangers." He says. 

"And we're not allowed inside!" They hear the skinny man shout, mumbled through his partner's palm. 

Gabriel is fighting back a migraine, he is most certainly not winning. "So, you're worthless to us then?"

Moira can't help it, she laughs. "That's quite a harsh way to put it, Gabriel." 

"He's right." Widowmaker says.

The larger man shakes his head at them, speaking before his dejected partner can. "There's a few ways to get in. Ducts. Hidden passages. Someone much smaller than me can get in. Quieter." 

This seems to have piqued Sombra's interest. "I might be of service. Got any plans I can look at?"

He nods.

Gabriel, Sombra, and the large man who introduces himself as Roadhog, are huddled together on a small loft, looking over layouts of Junkertown's outer rim. He speaks of a man named Bruce, who might have experience regarding making repairs, that he'll be willing to help once their inside and they mention who they're working with. Widowmaker, along with a group of Talon troops, return to the ship to retrieve whatever necessities they may need. This leaves Moira with nothing to do, having no reason to include herself on their mission. 

Their is an upper deck of the warehouse, the sun is beginning to set and the air around them starts to cool, she decides to spend her time there, get some fresh air. She's about to doze off their, hands behind her head, eyes closed, making herself as possible as she could on a wood wall and floor. She's interrupted, however, the floor creaks beneath her as someone joins her on the deck. For a moment there' silence, she doesn't bother looking up at the visitor until something hard and metal pokes at her side.

"Oi, redhead." It's the skinny one. She hums quizzically, brows furrowing when she feels the nudge at her side again. "Look at me when I'm talkin' to ya!"

Begrudgingly, she opens one eye, peering up at him. He's poking at her with his antiquated peg leg. 

He grumbles, annoyed. "With both eyes!"

She gives him a look, unsure of what he's getting at, before slowly looking at him, now, with both eyes. Instantly he's squatting down, much closer than before, staring right back at her with wide eyes. It's a bit daunting, has Moira leaning away from him. "What?" She asks.

"What happened to you?" He seems utterly amazed at whatever it is he's looking at.

Moira looks obviously confused, eyebrows raised. "What are you talking about?"

"Your eyes!" He exclaims. Moira understands how Gabriel became so easily frustrated being around the pair, specifically this man, who seems to have a problem with volume control, though Moira admits to herself she finds it endearing, seems to coincide with his wild appearance. "They're different colors!"

"I was born with it," she laughs.

He seems even more amazed by her answer. "Born with it? I've never seen anything like it."

Moira hums, closing her eyes again. "It's called heterochromia," she tells him.

He repeats it quietly to himself, the wood beside her creaks, though it's clear that it wasn't from him leaving. Peeking for just a moment, she sees the man has settled down next to her, content sitting quietly with her. Thankful for the silence, Moira eventually gets comfortable again, managing to fall asleep.

When she wakes, the man is gone. It's late into the night by now. She steps back inside, peers down the stairs. Widowmaker had returned at some point, bringing most of their possessions along with her. Most of them are asleep by now, bundled in sleeping bags except for Sombra, who is typing away at her holographic keyboard. She's fiddling with a communications device they brought back from the ship. It whirs and beeps quietly, and when Sombra spots Moira atop the stairs she waves at her. 

"We ran out of sleeping bags and blankets." She whispers to Moira as she walks down the stairs. "Don't think you'd even fit in one of em anyways. There's a couch on the loft, though." 

Moira runs a hand through her hair and huffs. She tiptoes past sleeping soldiers, clambering up the ladder and plopping down on the couch. It's extremely worn out, one side dips exponentially more than the other. Her legs hang off the arm rest, and the cushions are far too plush, but it will have to do. Roadhog is snoring below her, it's loud and sounds more like wheezing, she isn't sure how anyone is able to sleep through the grating noise. She falls in and out of sleep, becoming more exhausted each time her eyes crack open to the sound of the large man.

She staring up at the rafters, a hand idly playing with loose strands of her hair, when she hears someone come up the ladder. She attempts to blink the sleep out of her eyes as she sits up. It's the man who was on the deck with her earlier, peaking up at her from the floor. It's strange, in the dark his eyes seem to have a glow to them, an unusual yellow she hadn't noticed before. It reminds her of Widowmaker. 

"Junkrat."

Moira blinks. "What?"

"That's my name! Junkrat." It's comical to watch the man fidget and attempt to whisper. 

"A strange name, surely that isn't your real one."

He frowns at her. "I introduced myself! Now you have to tell me your name."

What an odd man. Moira smiles at him tiredly. "Moira." 

He does what he had done earlier, repeats it quietly to himself, and for a moment Moira watches him bounce in place on the ladder. "May I sleep now?" She asks, amused.

"Oh! Oh, sorry, sorry." He ducks his head down, hopping off the ladder and back to wherever he was previously sleeping. Moira lies back down, and finds she has a much easier time staying asleep than before. 

The next time she awakes, sunlight seeps through the windows and separating metal. She stays there for some time, basking in the light before she's interrupted by Gabriel, who's climbed up the ladder, smacking at her shoe dangling over the couch to get her attention. "Breakfast." Is all he says before descending, joining the rest of the crew. She grumbles, rubbing at her eyes before standing. 

The motorcycle previously in the middle of the room has been moved, replaced by tabled and assorted chairs; stools and lawn chairs and whatever they could scavenge. Still, there hadn't been enough seats, talon troops sat on stairs or the floor as they ate, leaving a seat for Moira at the table. She sits in a rickety wicker chair, woven wood poking out at random angles. Junkrat sits next to her, hands her a simple wooden bowl with rice and an egg on top; rations from the ship, no doubt. He smiles at her, and in return she smiles back. She catches Roadhog staring at her, his chair creaks in protest when he sits down, but he says nothing, pushing his mask up partially to eat. His mouth is a mangled mess, scars lining his lips and teeth sharp and chipped. She minds her own business, turning her attention towards her food. 

For a long while there's silence, but she can hear the man next to her fidget, always full of energy it seemed. Eventually, he speaks. "Never had a meal with so many people! Like a big family, huh Roadie?" He looks up to him, expectant. 

"Mm, yeah."

The answer is curt, but nonetheless Junkrat's got a big smile on his face, his teeth in similar condition as Roadhog's. Still, it's contagious, Moira finds herself smiling as well. It was charming, he seemed so pleasantly happy, just because he could be. Junkrat sees her smiling, and he bumps his shoulder to hers.

Gabriel clears his throat, bringing the attention to himself. "Me, Sombra, and the big guy are heading out in a few. This is a simple get in get out operation. We should be back soon." 

Moira hums. "Is my assistance required?"

He shakes his head. "No, you stay here. In case something does go wrong, Roadhog will report back to you and Widowmaker." He glances around the room. "If I remember correctly, however," he's sporting a mischievous grin, "it was you're turn to do dishes back on base. You should get to that." 

Moira's expression drops. She looks all around the room, counting heads. At least 12 talon troops, not including themselves, nor the cookware required to prepare breakfast. "There's a trough. Use that." Roadhog says, and Moira swears she sees a smile before it's obscured once he pulls his mask back down. 

The three stand up, Gabriel patting Moira on the back before walking past her. Sombra fails to contain her snickering. "Have fun!" She calls out. 

Roadhog is the last to leave. He's staring Junkrat down, who shrinks in his seat. "Don't do anything stupid." He says. 

Junkrat sputters, offended. "I wont!" 

Roadhog continues to stare. 

"I swear!" 

Roadhog seems to accept that, catching up with the other two as they exit the warehouse. Once they've gone, Moira sighs, running a hand through her hair. She stands, collecting and stacking the used dishes. Junkrat watches her for a moment before standing himself. "I'll help!" He declares, marching over and collecting the bowls from the talon troops. She shrugs, accepting the help.

The water in the trough is stagnant, a sludge seems to have manifested and sunk to the bottom as well. Moira grimaces, rolling up her sleeves. She asks Junkrat if they have any fresh water, who quickly runs off to fetch some. With some effort, Moira lifts the trough and dumps the water out, making sure to avoid it from dirtying her shoes. Junkrat returns with fresh water and soap, and they begin their chore.

Moira assigns herself the cleaning aspect, while she hands the wet dishes for Junkrat to dry. She's hunched over the trough, Junkrat is sitting to her right. She doesn't give it much thought as she hands him the dishes with her right hand. But over time, as they work in silence, it's become increasingly evident that Junkrat is distracted. He takes a long time to take dishes from her hand, seemingly forgets to dry them until she's ready to hand him another bowl. It's a bit irritating, and eventually Moira looks up at him to see the problem. He seems to have taken an interest in her hand. 

"What?" 

Junkrat nearly drops the bowl in his hands. "Sorry, sorry. Just uh, your hand, mate. What happened to it? Not another one of those things you were born with, right?"

Moira looks down at right hand. She'd nearly forgot of its appearance, a sickly purple that starts at her fingertips and fans out her palm and wrist. 

Moira shakes her head, chuckling. "No, I wasn't."

"Then what happened? Who did that?"

Moira shrugs nonchalantly. "I did," she answers simply. 

Junkrat does a rather comical double take. "You did it yourself? What're you, crazy?"

Moira laughs, clenches the fingers of her right hand, watches the movement. "Perhaps I am." She nods her head towards Junkrat's hand, the robotic one. "And what about you?"

He takes a second to process what she's asked. "Oh! This?" He wiggles his metallic fingers. Moira nods. "Bit of an accident, blew it up myself!" 

Moira's eyebrows shoot up, he sounded practically proud of that statement. She laughs. "And what does that make you? Just as crazy as me." 

He looks as though he's about to argue, but instead he scratches at his chin. "S'pose you're right." He says, smiling, and Moira smiles back. She doesn't inquire further. 

They're work flow goes much smoother after that. Junkrat isn't as distracted, and they get through most of the pile before he speaks up again. 

"Why'd you do it, though? Make your hand all messed up?" He says.

"Are you always this inquisitive towards your guests?" 

Junkrat huffs. "I would be if the rest of your gang weren't so angry! The blue bird won't even look at me." He sounds sad about that last statement, and Moira laughs, can't help it, the man is just so animated and open with his emotions. 

"They are rather unfriendly, aren't they?" Junkrat nods. "They aren't too fond of making new friends. A rather reclusive bunch. It's their loss." 

"Yeah! Who wouldn't want to be friends with me?"

Moira grins. "It's a mystery, truly," she concludes. They finish the dishes in relative silence. 

Gabriel and the crew return sometime in the afternoon with mild success. They say they were able to reach Bruce, and that, while his expertise does not include something as complex as a drop ship, he says he could fix their communications unit. But not until tomorrow, he's got to gather all the materials first, then he'd leave Junkertown to fix it there. 

They all spend lunch together, Junkrat resuming his seat next to Moira. He also asks if he and Moira could clean the dishes then, too. Sombra seems to have caught onto something Moira hasn't, smirking at her and Junkrat and trying to contain her laughter, which earns her a smack on the back of the head from Gabriel. Roadhog again stares at Junkrat, but nods, as long as Moira doesn't mind, he tells him, and she doesn't. They don't talk much at all while they work, and Moira enjoys that, relishing in the silence, would rather do dishes than hearing Sombra and Gabriel bicker inside. 

Dinner plays out the same way, and it's a comforting normalcy, less hectic than back on base and not as lonesome when they're camping out on missions. The cool air, however, never arrives during the night. Most of the group forgo sleeping bags and blankets, opting to sleep on the cold, hard, metallic floor. 

How anyone has managed to fall asleep in this heat is a mystery to Moira. She tosses and turns on the couch. That, mixed with Roadhog's snoring, is too much for Moira. She makes her way up, back to the upper deck, so if she has to suffer through the heat, at least she can do so in silence. She thinks she might be able to fall asleep, leaning against the wall, eyes closed, when she hears the wood boards creek. It's Junkrat, of course it is. He looks a bit shocked to see Moira there, but it doesn't deter him. He sits beside her, legs crossed. He fiddles with the springs on his peg leg in silence. 

She hums, amused by his behavior. "You're quieter than usual." 

Junkrat laughs, a little hushed. "What're you doing up here?"

Moira shrugs. "Couldn't sleep. Too hot. you?" 

Junkrat sways left and right, unable to sit still. "Mmm, couldn't sleep either. Used to the heat, though." He grins.

Moira smiles back. "Something on your mind, then?"

He grumbles at that, must've been the case. "Always somethin' on my mind, can't get my head to shut off, sometimes. Keeps me up."

"Know what that's like," Moira chuckles.

He looks to her, eyes wide. "You do?"

She nods. 

He laughs again. "We really are both crazy, huh?"

"I suppose we are." And Moira found that she was much more comfortable in the heat than before, falling asleep as she felt something weigh down on her shoulder.

Bruce arrives early in the morning, just as the sun is beginning to rise. Him and Roadhog make small talk as he tinkers with their communications device, and with nothing else to do, the others simply meander about the warehouse. Some of the troops found a marker and played tic tac toe on the floor, Gabriel eventually joins them. 

Moira sits on the corner of the loft, watching Bruce as he worked. Junkrat sat beside her, quiet except for his mumbling and insentient fidgeting. Widowmaker and Sombra are doing relatively the same, but have found a comfortable spot together up in the rafters. 

"You know, Moira," Sombra speaks up, leaning dangerously far out. Moira hums, but says nothing more. "Anyone told you that you and twitchy look exactly the same yet?"

Moira looks up to her, brows furrowing. "What?"

Sombra laughs, hands gripping the wood planks to prevent her from falling. "It's true!"

Moira frowns, looks to Junkrat, who seems to be inspecting her as well. "We do not," she says.

"You totally do! If you weren't such a priss and let yourself look a little crazy, you'd be identical!" 

Below them, Roadhog chuckles, low and throaty, catching their attention. "She's right," is all he offers, which sends Sombra into a fit of laughter. Moira's face feels hot, she's sure her ears must be red, embarrassed, but before she's able to protest, the communications device whirs to life,  
activating their individual ear pieces, and the entire warehouse goes silent. 

Gabriel's the first to react, shooting straight up and marching to the device. He messes with the dials and buttons until he's satisfied. He's speaking to someone on the other end of his ear piece, a Talon pilot, orders them to get him in contact with Akande. Sombra whoops and hollers, excited to get back home. Moira's happy to, but when she looks to Junkrat he looks back in confusion. 

"What's happening now?" He asks.

She laughs. "We've got into contact with the rest of our crew. We're going home." 

He blinks up at her, face scrunching up in thought, but he says nothing. Even if he had something to say, it wouldn't been cut off by Akande, who speaks through their ear pieces. 

"Can I have confirmation who's with Gabriel?" He says, and her, along with Widowmaker, Sombra, and the talon soldiers announce their presence to him. He says a kind thank you before returning to speaking with only Gabriel, who speak of their situation and given coordinates. Junkrat still seems to be deep and thought, and Moira notices Roadhog staring up at them both. 

At breakfast, the table is lively with chatter from Gabriel and Sombra, a few troops had joined them at the table, making small talk as well. Moira was quiet, along with Junkrat and Roadhog. Though when it came time to do dishes, Junkrat piped up saying he'd like to do them with Moira again, only to be interrupted by Roadhog, who puts a hand to his shoulder.

"I'll do them with her," is all he says, and Junkrat doesn't argue, simply looks sad as he nods. Moira feels a bit uneasy standing the same time as Roadhog, who watches her as they collect the dishes to wash. They work in silence, for a time, Moira washing and Roadhog drying, accompanied by Roadhog's heavy breathing.

"You leave tomorrow." He says, the suddenness of it nearly making Moira jump. 

"Yes, I am. Gabriel says Akande will meet us in the morning." She confirms, returning to cleaning, though when she goes to hand a clean dish to Roadhog, he does not take it. 

"He likes you."

"What?"

Roadhog huffs a labored breath. "Jamison." Moira suspects that is Junkrat. "You're smart. You already know this."  
Moira looks to Roadhog, then to the dish in her hand, puts in back in the trough, continues to clean it, for something to busy her hands with. "I am well aware, yes."

Silence, and then. "He is an idiot." He says, finishing it off with a laugh. "But so am I. I cannot protect him from everything. You're smart. He needs someone like you, in his life."

Moira is unsure of what to say, so instead she hums, doesn't have an answer for him. Eventually, he takes the plate from her hand, and dries it, and they go back into a simple rhythm. Once they've finished, Roadhog holding a dangerously high stack of plates in his hands, they head back, but not before Roadhog stops Moira from entering, blocking the door. She looks up at him, an eyebrow raised.

"You don't ever have to come back, but he would like if you visited, even for a short while." He stands there, waiting for an answer, and Moira gives him one, if not a little hesitantly.

"Alright." 

He accepts her answer, moving off to the side to allow her in. Lunch and dinner are the same, Junkrat sits close to Moira, and they are the only ones silent at the table. Roadhog does the dishes with Moira, but does not push the subject more. Night falls and it's the same as last night, too hot, too loud, to sleep, to properly think. Moira finds herself out on the deck, standing and leaning against the railing. There are blinking lights going off in Junkertown, and she focuses on that. 

Just as she suspects, Junkrat joins her on the deck. He's quiet, leaning against the railing just as she does. They share a quiet moment, before Moira is the first to break the silence.

"You know, I have a friend in Oasis, she works in prosthetic hardlight limbs. I could get her to make something nice for you, to replace what you have."

He looks at her with that wide eyed expression she's grown accustomed to. "You know somebody in Oasis, where'd you find a friend like that?"

She laughs, turns her attention back to Junkertown. "I work there."  
"  
You work there! Never thought _I'd_ be friends with someone like that." He sounds amazed, like it's the best thing he's ever heard. He turns to fully face her, points a finger at her. "Hey, think you could get me a fancy job like that? Jamison Fawkes, Minister of Engineering...got a nice ring, doesn't it?"

Moira gives him a credulous glance before laughing. "I think it'll be a long time before I see that." He starts laughing with her, and it takes a while for them to recover from their fit. There's another comfortable silence, but Moira suspects Junkrat has something he wants to say to her. 

His hands are gripping the railing, he's rocking on the ball of his foot, keeping balance with his peg leg. "You're real pretty, you know that?"

Moira sucks in a silent breath, keeps her eyes glued on Junkertown. "I've been told," she replies coolly, to convince him she's keeping a casual air.

She can feel his eyes on her for a long while. Eventually she looks back, and they stare at each other. Moira doesn't know what to feel, but she doesn't have to mull over it long, as Junkrat makes the first move. His lips are unbelievably chapped, his skin uncomfortably hot against hers in tandem with the weather. And with the backdrop before them, the scene is hardly romantic, but it feels right, it's perfect, to Moira. 

He breaks apart quickly, and he says nothing, suddenly sheepish. When neither speak up, he rubs the back of his neck, and averts his attention to the city's blinking lights. Slowly, she places a tentative hand to Junkrat's jaw, gets him to look back at her. He's wide eyed, practically shaking from nerves, eyes looking anywhere but Moira. A moment passes, and she leans forward, returning his kiss. This time it's a little less chaste, more soft, an unspoken feeling, and she suddenly doesn't mind the dryness of his lips, nor the heat of his skin. 

When they break apart he's got this goofy grin on his face, and Moira smiles back. They spend the rest of the night in silence, enjoying each others company and watching Junkertown's blinking lights. At some point Moira departs, giving his hand a squeeze before returning inside to sleep. 

Akande arrives on time that morning. His drop ship is loud as it lands, acts as their waking call. Talon troops make quick work of packing up all their gear and loading it onto the ship. Gabriel is debriefing to Akande outside the warehouse. Roadhog is there, and they have a hushed conversation. 

Moira lingers inside, leaning her shoulder against the loft ladder. Junkrat is above her, legs kicking off the side of the loft. "I believe we had an agreement on payment?" Moira says, looking up at him.  
He smiles, that same silly one from last night. "Money won't be necessary." He declares, straightening his posture in an attempt to appear professional.

Moira raises an eyebrow, holds back a laugh. "A gentleman now, are we?" She starts, pushing herself off the ladder. "I'm not sure if you're trying to impress me, but it's not working." He practically deflates like a balloon, a frown teasing at his lips, but it's washed away when Moira places her hand atop of his, and their fingers interlace for just a moment. "I prefer my men a little crazy." She says, smiling up at him before separating, giving him one last glance before she leaves the warehouse, boarding the drop ship and heading to their original destination.


End file.
